A Soul Remembers
by O' the Six Hundred
Summary: Rizinia has been chosen as this cycle's savior, but how does she feel about this? Drangleic is a lonesome place, so she wishes for a companion to come along and help ease the the burden of her monumental task. Femslash.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All property belongs to From Software, other than the main protagonist.**

* * *

_Right. Left. Right. Slash, slash, roll left again. Pause and catch your breath, all will be fine; you can do this._ The large sword slams onto the ground with a loud ring, only to raise again moments later, ready to swing evermore. "Damn it. Why not just call it . . . " she dodges to the right. " . . . a day!" Jamming the two swords into the knight's back, she twists them, letting out a grunt in the process, severing whatever connection the creature relied on to function.

"Damn. The bastard scuffed my armor a few times." She runs her hand through her short, red hair. "Perhaps if I were the tiniest bit shorter I would have been able to easily avoid everything thrown at me so far. Height is so cumbersome." Taking a moment, she rips the helmet off the dead knight, grabs the under cloth, and wipes her weapons clean. Again she pushes forward, striving for her purpose.

Before her eyes the dark, dank halls seem endless; black, gaping maws to infinity, or another purgatory aside the one she already exists in. Water sloshed about as the leather boots pushed onward, driven. The ache in her shoulder seemed like a mild scratch now that her legs were so fatigued. The opaque water—thick with sludge long forgotten—certainly slowed anyone except the elephantine knights that inhabited the halls. "Why does anyone even stay down here? 'Tis dark, reeking, and completely desolate." Sighing, she continued through the refuse-laden liquid.

The hole in the wall did not surprise her, as the decrepit tower displayed signs of structural weakness earlier along her journey. Entering the seemingly intentional tunnel, she marched on. Grey stalagmites, sprouting from the stone, carpeted the floor, forming a winding, yet simple path. "What I would give for a torch right now." She continued following the linear passage until it opened up, an oddly placed bonfire lying on the ground, unlit. Yet what caught her eye most would be the peculiar person propped against the wall. "May I ask as to whom I am addressing?" she questioned, relieved to find a non-hostile being travelling her same way.

"What does it matter? I do not know you, and you do not know me. Let us keep it that way," the stranger said.

"Well, it certainly pertains to how I should address someone such as yourself, I would enjoy knowing about you, and why keep it that way—people can be great for one's mental health," the girl noted.

At first, the mystery woman sighed, implying annoyance, but laughed at the persistence of this intruder. "You are an odd one, aren't you? Most keep away, preferring not to bother with a masked unknown, but you're different. I am called Lucatiel."

"Well met, Lucatiel. A pleasure to be in your presence. I am Rizinia." Bowing, she continued: "Perchance you can tell me of your reason for coming to this land of all places?"

"I suppose I could ask the same of you, Rizinia; however, I shall be kind and tell you that I arrived from Mirrah, a land far east of here. I came this way to collect souls, of which Drangleic should be brimming with. Yet I could not prepare for the reality of the situation."

"To some degree our goals align. Whilst you may wish for more souls, I simply need to defeat the Great Souls, propelling this everlasting campaign for light forward. Riveting."

Lucatiel spoke with an amused lilt to her voice. "You've definitely made a point of engaging me, regardless of my point to ignore you. If you need my help I shall be there. Whatever happens, I won't be missed." A melancholy giggle punctuated that last point.

_Odd,_ Rizinia thought. _She has an air of confidence uncanny to most in this land, but I detect she is distraught. What could be bothering her?_ Standing clad in Mirrah's knightly garb, and her custom helm, Lucatiel shifted against the wall, body language clearly telling of restlessness. "Would you permit me to ask why you would not be missed? Rizinia asked.

"It is irrelevant. There is no need to feel concern for someone you just met, for that shall be your downfall in Drangleic. Though, I do appreciate the offer of kindness."

Rizinia lit the bonfire and sat down, examining her sword. "You know, if you truly are a knight from Mirrah, perhaps you would not mind a bit of a spar? Cannot forgo battle even in the briefest respite, for one must not capitulate to lethargy. Or something like that." She punctuated the words with a slight smirk, hoping to coax some reaction from Lucatiel.

Staring at Rizinia for what seemed like an eternity, she pushed off from the wall. "All right. Are you sure those flimsy things you call swords can do anything?" Lucatiel taunted, a smile pulling at her features behind the mask.

Rizinia grinned, excited at the chance to get more information about the knight. Standing, she planted her feet firmly on the ground and held both swords in a raised pose. Lucatiel drew her greatsword, gripping the hilt and a part of the blade, an uncommon tactic never seen before for Rizinia. "Shall we begin?" Lucatiel asked, eager to see the strength of her opponent.

"Are you sure you are ready? The blade would slice through your hand if you held it so queerly."

"So sure are we?" Lucatiel swung horizontally, the speed and power amplified by the special grip. A loud clang rang out upon colliding with the two scimitars and the greatsword. "Much more control for horizontal swings, you see." Immediately, Lucatiel changed positioning, pulling the sword back for an overhead swing. With a great arc, she slammed the blade down, similar to the motions of cutting wood with an axe.

The impact unsettled Rizinia, surprised at the strength of the weapon bearing down on her curved blades. "You certainly did not plan to go easy," she strained, gritting her teeth at the force. _I need to turn the tables soon, _she thought. Shoving the greatsword back, Rizinia spun around, the momentum increasing the force of the blades. Surprising though, was the counter Lucatiel planned. She dropped to the ground and sweeped Rizinia's feet causing Rizinia to topple over, greatsword pointed at her throat, back on the ground.

"Hm, how upsetting," remarked Lucatiel.

"Well, that's insulting. I have the proper skill, you just have more."

"Quite," came the curt reply. Lucatiel proceeded to push the blade into the scabbard at her hip. "I was a master swordwoman in Mirrah, so it is of no surprise to have beat you so easily. After all, you have a long journey ahead of you, yes? So maybe your skill shall improve and you will be able to defeat me in combat."

"How is life in Mirrah?" Rizinia asked, curious. "For one such as you to achieve victory so effortlessly, you must have trained for ages."

Lucatiel did not answer immediately, thinking of her childhood and times when the curse did not have a stranglehold on her life. "I was trained from birth. Holding swords has become second nature by now. Most everyone in my homeland took the path of the sword."

Rizinia propped herself on her elbows. "From birth? Well, at least you can still remember that far back. My memory grows hazy whenever I attempt to think about the past. I wish I could understand it."

Lucatiel paused, body tense from the very problem Rizinia mentioned. Turning, she asked, "Are you . . . cursed?" Though Lucatiel asked the question out of genuine interest, she could not stop the slight plea in her voice.

Rizinia, however, misinterpreted the meaning, assuming the question was asked out of fear. "Uh . . . no . . . I'm not cursed," she lied.

For a moment, it almost appeared as if Lucatiel became upset. _Perhaps she knows I'm lying? What does it matter, I just met this person after all, so why do I care, _Rizinia thought. "How fortunate for at least a few to escape that wretched curse. To think of all those poor souls; memories that wither and die, no one remembering you, and you not remembering anything of them. 'Tis truly a pity," Lucatiel lamented.

"A question I ask myself all the time. Why this _thing _ever happens. I suppose no one person can ever understand it. Vendrick tried and failed, like countless others before. Maybe 'tis just some kind of far-fetched cycle, perpetual and unrestrained. Or I could be talking out of my arse. Pick your favorite."

Another laugh, light-hearted and mirthful. "I was right about you being an odd one. So, Rizinia, why are you really down here? Surely you jested earlier."

"Well, not exactly. I actually am on a journey for the four great souls." She sat up. "The 'ever-lasting campaign of light thing,' not so much. I've adapted a much more realistic outcome of this adventure and do not expect myself to be able to complete this great task."

"Then why do you persist yet?" Lucatiel queried. "If one cannot ascertain their goal, why go after it? Have you no faith in yourself?"

Rizinia paused, looking for her own answer to the question. "I guess 'tis unknowable whether I believe I can do this monumental checklist in front of me, but if not me, then whom?"

"'Tis a reason, all right, I will give you that. Not a very good one, but respectable, surely."

Rizinia's countenance shifted to a fake pout. "Now you just want to see me cry, don't you?"

"Perhaps."

"Rude." Rizinia took a moment to observe her surroundings, noticing the lack of anything other than stone and stalagmites. "Why have you chosen to rest here? Is it because of the bonfire?"

"Not entirely. Outside of this cave lies No Man's Wharf, and I can assure you that there is no 'safe' place in there. My turn to ask something. Why are you wishing to talk so much? Yes, I appreciate it, but no one is ever so . . . enthusiastic."

"I would surmise that you do not wish to speak with me, but if you must know, 'tis a reason I wish to keep to myself for now. Perchance if we meet again I shall tell you. My apologies for keeping secrets."

Lucatiel wanted to prod more, see what other information she could acquire from her brief guest, but Rizinia seemed lost in thought, staring blithely at the cave walls. _What are you hiding, I wonder? I suppose that may be ironic coming from someone who wears a mask at most times._ "Since I seem to be stuck talking to you, why not swap some memories? Take your mind off things for a bit."

Rizinia shook her head. "I'm sorry, but were you not just complaining about how much I attempted to speak? If anyone is the odd one here 'tis you. I would welcome the distraction though. What do wish to discuss?"

"What brought you to Drangleic? You do not seem to be a native, so I assume there is a reason for that."

"Honestly, I'm not sure how I managed to arrive. One moment I was exploring some strange place that I dropped into, the next I'm in Drangleic. 'Tis a bit difficult to recall or understand. Sorry for not being more descriptive. Anyway, what do you wish to reminisce about? I am not particularly fickle about the subject. Just hearing another human voice is nice."

"Hm. I suppose I could tell you a bit about what I've seen so far. For example, I've seen these knights similar to those that guard this tower, only much more passive, and in place of a sword is a mug."

* * *

_What a strange and dangerous place, this land. Lucatiel found herself rushing past an ornate, open gate, hoping for some minor comfort and respite among the desolation. Stumbling to a halt, she became aware of the parish she entered. Row after row of dilapidated pews lined the left and right side, a deep-grey coloring to them. The apse and ambulatory consisted of not one but three podiums, each much too large for any human. The entirety of the cathedral accumulated a fine layer of dust from years of abandonment. She took cautious steps, not exactly assured by the emptiness so common in the strange kingdom._

_A large thud alerted her to something beyond the left set of pews; however, nothing appeared to be visible, and knowing how these sorts of things played out, Lucatiel stayed still, examining the flickering flames somehow still lit on the candelabra set upon a table. The thud rang out again, only duller than before, as if the object making the sound moved further away. Bracing herself, Lucatiel moved toward the source of the sound. As she rounded the extruded wall, a small alcove with an iron door appeared; moreover, the door had two skeletons in a rather compromising position lying in front of it. _Odd,_ she thought. _Why would this be outside the room? These two were at least embracing each other, so why are they not inside? Would that not make more sense for such intimacy?

_The door creaked suddenly, as if straining from an enormous weight placed upon it. Lucatiel raised her greatsword, grasping the grip and ricasso—a standard technique of Mirrah's knights. Anything that could concave an iron door clearly contained hostility, so she prepared beforehand._

_The door boomed open, swinging and slamming into the wall it attached to. A huge, lumbering humanoid, clad in ragged, rusted, and possibly plated armor, stepped through, likely flustered from the exertion. The figure noticed Lucatiel and shouted, "Gavlan deal!"_

_Lucatiel had heard of this race, the Gyrm, though she never beheld one. He came shambling toward her, though slowly, possibly to display friendliness instead of aggression. He stopped afore her, clearly wishing to discuss something. Lucatiel sheathed her greatsword and asked what he wanted, only to receive a quick "Gavlan wheel. Gavlan deal!" remark. _What an odd fellow, _she thought._

* * *

"So all he wanted was your old goods? What a strange . . . man?" Rizinia questioned.

"He was stranger than you even. Although he did not attempt to converse so much as sell."

"I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"Indeed you should."

* * *

Rizinia bid Lucatiel farewell, expressing "woeful sorrow" that they must part so soon, though Lucatiel remarked how their paths might cross again. Exiting the cave, Rizinia marched onward toward her goal. "This is going to take a while."

Rolling left, she dodged another swipe from the large-handed, clawed creature. Her scimitar slashed into the rough skin, dark blood dribbling to the floor. The beast shrieked in pain, swinging wildly in an attempt to hit its assailant. Rizinia moved behind the beast, firmly planting her left blade into the head of the monster. "Great, totally ruined my mood too." Pulling the blade from the Dark Stalkers skull, she cursed the green tint now covering her sword. "If only these enemies had something that would self-clean upon opening a new wound. Life really is a curse."

Rizinia marched up the stairs, hoping to find something to aid her along. Opening the door on the other side of the room, Rizinia noted two things: first, two chests, iron and wood, lie side by side near the wall. Second, an unfamiliar being stood, quaffing an extensive amount of liquid, perhaps ale. Upon approach, the being took notice and called in a booming voice: "Gavlan wheel! Gavlan deal! Want soul, many, many soul!"

"And to think I thought she improvised the tale."

* * *

The visit to Gavlan caught her off-guard, if only because Lucatiel spoke of him not long ago. Exiting the decayed building, Rizinia approached the cliff overlooking most of the wharf. _I could end it all here simply by walking off this ledge, never to be heard from again. No more struggle, and no more thought. 'Twould be blissful, the afterlife. Or maybe I'm doomed forever, eternity in my gaze, death never coming. _She sat on the bluff, legs dangling over the edge.

Looking to the distance, Rizinia scrutinized the ship. _That ship is my next destination, and perhaps my last. Where does it lead to, I wonder._ Peering to her left, she noticed a bell above a lever. "I suppose that will call the ship in." Taking the bow off her back, she nocked an arrow, still sitting on the cliff. "This ought to finish the job early." Pulling the string back, she loosed the arrow; a resounding ring emitted from the bell upon collision, causing the ship's massive torches to light up, signalling for the ship to dock. Hoisting herself up, Rizinia started toward the ship, a melancholic sigh escaping her lips.

Through the various enemies, inching closer and closer toward the ship, Rizinia became aware of the yearning to hear someone already. Not necessarily Lucatiel, just another sentient person to speak to. "Drangleic, capital of the desolate," she complained. "Why me though? The Herald perhaps does this for everyone, but why has no one else appeared? Surely another would be willing to help me." A ghostly phantom ran past, seemingly hell-bent on reaching the ship. "If only such shades could speak, what tales would they tell? What yarns could they spin? I deem a better question might be: would they even wish to speak at all?" _Might I go mad before I ever reach the throne?_

Another Dark Lurker screeched as she approached. The creature—hidden in a dark hut—shielded its face from the light, hoping Rizinia would not advance. "If I could spare you I would, but I need to be somewhere, so I do not know what to tell you." The Dark Lurker, of course, could not understand its role in preserving her memory, so it attempted to fight back, wishing to preserve the only life it ever knew. Rizinia stepped back into the light, causing the Dark lurker to raise its hands as a shield again. She slashed at the hands with arcing strikes, slicing deep into the monster's flesh, chipping away at the life it so virulently defended. Rizinia rolled back and placed herself, then ran toward the beast and leaped, slamming both blades into the skull, shattering and spraying grey matter everywhere.

"Why do you all have to make such a mess? Do you know how long it takes to find a suitable bathing area?" Rizinia trudged on, the end never in sight.

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**This is my first foray into the world of Dark Souls. Constructive criticism would be deeply appreciated, as I always wish to strive for better quality.**


End file.
